“That may be,” they heard Royce say from somewhere outside, “but you won’t find it here.”
The thief appeared a moment later, his hood up and his cloak slick with rain. Once he ducked in out of the downpour, he snapped it like a dog shaking his fur. This sent a spray of water at Hadrian and Alric. They flinched and with a grimace the prince opened his mouth to speak but he stopped short. Royce was not alone. Behind him followed the monk from the night before. He was soaked. His wool frock sagged with the weight of the water, and his hair laid plastered flat on his head. His skin was pale, his purple lips quivered, and his fingers were wrinkled as if he had been swimming too long.
“I found him sleeping outside,” Royce said as he quickly grabbed an armful of the stacked wood. “Myron, take off that robe. We need to get you dry.”
“Myron?” Hadrian said with an inquisitive look. “Myron Lanaklin?” Hadrian thought the monk nodded in reply, but he was shivering so hard it was difficult to tell.
“You know each other?” Alric asked.
“No, but we are familiar with his family,” Royce said. “Give him the blanket.”
Alric looked shocked and held tightly to his covering.
“Give it to him,” Royce insisted. “It’s his blanket. This fool gave us his home to stay in last night while he huddled in a wind-lashed corner of the cloister and froze.”
“I don’t understand,” Alric said, reluctantly pulling the blanket off his shoulders. “Why would you sleep outside in the rain when—”
“The abbey burned down,” Royce told them. “Anything that wasn’t stone is gone. We weren’t walking through a courtyard last night—that was the abbey. The ceiling is missing. The outer buildings are nothing but piles of ash. The whole place is a gutted ruin.”
The monk slipped out of his robe, and Alric handed the blanket to him. Myron hurriedly pulled it around his shoulders and, sitting down, drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping them in the folds as well.
“What about the other monks?” Hadrian asked. “Where are they?”
“I—I bu-buried them. In the garden mostly,” Myron said through chattering teeth. “The gr-ground is softer there. I don’t th-think they will mind. We all lo-loved the garden.”
“When did this happen?”
“Night before last,” Myron replied.
Shocked by the news, Hadrian did not want to press the monk further and a silence fell over the room. Royce built a fire near the entrance using various pieces of wood and some oil from the lantern. As it grew, the stone walls reflected the heat, and soon the room began to warm.
No one said anything for a long time. Royce prodded the fire with a stick, churning the glowing coals so that they sparked and spit. They each sat watching the flames, listening to the fire pop and crackle while outside the wind howled and the rain lashed the hilltop. Without looking at the monk, Royce said in a somber voice, “You were all locked in the church when it was burned, weren’t you, Myron?”
The monk did not reply. His gaze remained focused on the fire.
“I saw the blackened chain and lock in the ash. It was still closed.”
Myron, his arms hugging his knees, began to rock slowly.
“What happened?” Alric asked.
Still Myron said nothing. Several minutes passed. At last, the monk looked away from the fire. He did not look at them, but instead, he stared at some distant point outside in the rain. “They came and accused us of treason,” he said with a soft voice. “There were maybe twenty of them, knights with helms covering their faces. They rounded us up and pushed us into the church. They closed the big doors behind us. Then the fire started.
“Smoke filled the church so quickly. I could hear my brothers coughing, struggling to breathe. The abbot led us in prayer until he collapsed. It burned very quickly. I never knew it contained so much dry wood. It always seemed to be so strong. The coughing got quieter and less frequent. Eventually, I couldn’t see anymore. My eyes filled with tears, and then I passed out. I woke up to rain. The men and their horses were gone and so was everything else. I was under a marble lectern in the lowest nave, and all my brothers were around me. I looked for other survivors but there were none.”
“Who did this?” Alric demanded.
“I don’t know their names, or who sent them, but they were dressed in tunics with a scepter and crown,” Myron said.
“Imperialists,” Alric concluded. “But why would they attack an abbey?”
Myron did not reply. He merely stared out the window at the rain. A long time passed; finally Hadrian asked in a comforting voice, “Myron, you said they charged you with treason. What did they accuse you of doing?”
The monk said nothing. He just sat huddled in his blanket and stared. Alric finally broke the silence. “I don’t understand. I gave no orders to have this abbey destroyed, and I can’t believe my father did either. Why would Imperialists carry out such an act, especially without my knowledge?”
Royce cast a harsh and anxious look at the prince.